


The Guy, The Other Guy, and Mrs Terrible III: a Stark Industries Holiday Party

by B_Frizzy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Ex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brock Rumlow as generic bad guy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sassy Steve Rogers, nonspecific winter holidays, smitten Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Frizzy/pseuds/B_Frizzy
Summary: Prompt: "You overhear my ex mocking me for being single at a holiday party and introduce yourself as my SO with a kiss on the cheek but we've never spoken before"Or, the one where Tony's brain short circuits because -attractive man-, and he can't help but stick his nose where it doesn't belong.





	The Guy, The Other Guy, and Mrs Terrible III: a Stark Industries Holiday Party

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a happy little holiday prompt fill! Thanks for asking, anon, and thanks to veronicabunchwrites for the list of prompts :)

Tony checked his watch and groaned. How was it still not 10pm? And why did he make that stupid agreement with Pepper that he would stay at the Stark Industries holiday party until then? Oh, right, repayment for the PR disaster that was the Halloween Bash. How was he supposed to know that the mayor was afraid of pigeons? 

He tossed the last of his drink back and headed to the bar for a refill; he was way too sober for all the schmoozing and feet kissing. At least he knew the bar had the good stuff, since it was his party and all. No use skimping on the booze when it was literally the only good thing about the whole bullshit event.

He nearly made it to the bar without being stopped, which was practically a miracle (but not actually, since they weren’t a real thing), but he was interrupted by Mrs Horrible III just steps away. Tony could practically taste the smoky, well-aged scotch that was waiting especially for him. He had to play nice to the stockholders, though, or Pep would have his balls (and he was pretty attached to them, physically and emotionally). He managed to make it a full 3 minutes into her blathering before he zoned out, rattling the ice cube in his still-empty glass (couldn’t the foul woman get the hint?)

Instead of listening to the way she went on disdainfully about how it was “such a shame that today’s society couldn’t appreciate the need for well-made weapons”, and that she understood the company had to keep relevant, but she “certainly felt safer when Stark weaponry was protecting Americans,” (because he was pretty sure that maiming guests would go against the ‘be nice’ directive), Tony let his eyes drift across the large and ridiculously over-decorated room to look for The Guy. 

Tony had seen him almost the second he walking in (fashionably late), which sounded like such cliched romantic bullshit, but hey, he couldn't change the facts. That was why they were facts. The Guy was hovering nervously around the gigantic Menorah. He was small, smaller than almost everyone around him, but there was a fierce cut to his eyes that made him look like he was ready to drop his champagne glass and fight anyone who so much as looked his way. And boy, could Tony appreciate that sentiment.

Almost as much as he could appreciate the ungodly glowing blue color of The Guy’s eyes, framed by glasses too big for his face, the crisp pressed khakis that somehow managed to make his legs look a mile long (when they were definitely not, like, at all), and the way his suspenders sat on narrow shoulders, pressing his dress shirt tightly to his thin torso. 

And yeah, okay, maybe ogling the guests wasn’t exactly what Pep meant when she said ‘play nice’, but if it kept him out of trouble, how could it be wrong?

His search was fruitless, though. Tony couldn’t see him anywhere. Which meant back to focusing on Mrs Horrible III, and oh hey look, her husband had joined in the conversation at some point.

“-dear. I agree that it’s nice that Mr Stark is donating the proceeds to charity, I’m simply pointing out that I think the best thing for the community isn’t to placate the lazy. No offense of course, Tony.”

Yeah, nope. That was just about all he could take from the Terribles. He was about to interrupt and make an exit (or just walk away, because from the look of it, the two were snipping at each other so much they wouldn’t even notice), when he caught the thread of a conversation floating from somewhere behind him. 

“Seriously, how did you even get invited? I see you weren’t important enough to warrant a plus one -- of course my date is around here somewhere. Or is it that you just couldn’t find anyone willing to be seen with you?”

The only thing that Tony hated more than the whimpering, sycophantic masses at these stupid events were the ones who were rude, mean, or downright cruel. The people who thought that getting their names printed on an SI invite meant they had some sort of status or power. They were the same people that controlled the company for far too long, making decisions based on selfishness and monetary gain. Tony was trying to ferret out every last one of them and put their names on a list so black they couldn’t even find work in the Antarctic. By the sounds of it, he had missed one.

Whoever the man was talking to was keeping up pretty well, though.

“You do realize that we used to date, right, and that you basically just insulted yourself more than you did me? And now here you are again, talking to me in the open, where anyone could see it. By all means, Brock,feel free to leave me alone before you taint your reputation or whatever.”

Sarcastic remarks in that oh-my-gorgeous voice? The Guy might have a run for his money.

“Yeah, sure we dated, but everyone knew that I was just slumming it for a fuck. I mean, why do you think I agreed to spend all of my time with you at your white trash friend’s run down, piece of shit bar? Really though, whose dick did you have to suck to get in here?”

And that was just about as much of that as Tony could take. He interrupted Mr Terrible in the middle of what he was sure was a racist, xenophobic, or classist rant.

“Well! Your views were certainly enlightening. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make the rounds.”

He didn’t wait for a response before he turned around and started walking away, eyes searching for the voices that he overheard. Because “making the rounds” definitely meant sticking his nose where it didn’t belong (probably at the expense of a very high end pair of heels and grovelling).

Tony was pretty sure his brain short circuited a little, when his eyes landed on The Guy and a very large, brutish looking man (sanding way too close, in Tony’s opinion).

Okay, he was positive his brain had short circuited, because there was no other reason why he would decide to stride straight up to them, throw his around around The Guy’s thin shoulders, and say with a wide grin, “Well, that would be me, of course!”

Oh, God. Pepper wasn’t going to want shoes, she was going to want his head on a platter. That was, of course, if The Guy didn’t kill him first, because Tony could feel the Death-Murder beams directed straight at the side of his head. Well, no going back now.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to he Guy’s quickly flushing (embarrassment? rage?) cheek. “I thought I lost you, Snookums. Luckily i needed a refill or I wouldn’t have found you.”

Bit-Tall-and-Stupid looked a shade paler than he had before, quickly taking two steps back so that he wasn’t in their personal space anymore (since Tony had also invaded The Guy’s personal space, but hopefully in a more helpful and acceptable way). 

“Oh! Mr Stark! I didn’t… of course. What a small world. How, um, how did you and Steve meet?”

Hey, cool, The Guy had a name! Now if only he knew literally anything else so that he could make up a somewhat believable story as to how they could have met, one good enough that his ex wouldn’t question it.

“How we met? Man, it’s a great story. You won’t even believe it, let me tell you. See, Steve and I met because --”

“Ms Potts commissioned me to do the new artwork in the Stark Tower lobby. Tony liked it so much that he wanted me to make some art for his penthouse. He and Ms Potts thought they could help me get more high profile clients if i came here.”

God bless Steve. And, huh, Tony could vaguely recognize some parts of the story being true, even. He was pretty sure that Steve was lying about the art in the lobby thing because he had never seen any art there, ever (but it did sound like something Pepper would do, and tony wasn’t the most observant person), but a new painting had suddenly appeared in his living room. It was some sort of trompe l’oeil style painting of the internal view of an arc reactor. It was… actually incredibly well thought out and beautiful. Sure, it might just look like a boring view of metal bits to someone else, but to him it was exactly what he wanted to commemorate the transition of Stark Industry into a renewable energy corporation (and his own transition into a new person, but nobody needed to know that he had that level of introspection).

He winked haughtily and pulled Steve more firmly against his side. “What can I say, I like a man who’s good with his hands.”

Steve snorted into his champagne glass. That was cute, why was it so damn cute? He drained it and elbowed Tony in the ribs (hard, ow, pointy elbows. But he probably deserved it, so he would forgive Steve). 

“Why don’t we say goody to Brock and go get that refill, hm,  _ doll _ ?”

Oh, Tony likey. He would gladly follow a sarcastic, attractive man towards alcohol. But he had one teensy tiny thing to do first.

“Well, I would love to, sweet cheeks, but before we do that… I was just wondering something about Brock here.” He looked from Steve (blue eyes, so blue, so hard to look away) to The Other Guy. “Why are you here at this party?”

The Other Guy looked back wide-eyed. He stumble over his answer for a second before he collected himself, shoulders pushed back, chest forward, head held high. Ah, false self confidence, the safety blanket of the mediocre “alpha male” (because Tony would bet his entire garage that Brock would refer to himself as an alpha male). 

“I was recently hired as the head of security for the building. And as you know, all senior staff were invited, of course.”

That’s what Tony got for agreeing to delegate the hiring for non-science departments.

“Head of building security you say? Well, i’ll make sure to get that job posting relisted as soon as i leave here tonight.” He waved over one of the uniforms lining the perimeter of the room, a safety measure that Tony had objected to until now. “If you could escort this gentleman out, please. I’m pleased to say that he’s no longer an employee of Stark Industries.”

Brock stuttered and argued, trying to fight against the officer who had grabbed his elbow firmly. Tony smirked as they cut through the crowd toward the exit. Beautiful justice. 

When they were through the grand double doors and out of sight, he looked down at Steve with a wide grin on his face.

Steve had an eyebrow raised and a hand on his hip, wearing an expression that could either mean that Tony had fucked up or he was about to get laid. Or both. Tony really hoped that it was both. Hot stranger hate hookup? Oh yeah.

With a flick of his pink tongue and sweeping eyes, Steve licked his lips and slowly looked Tony up and down ( _please say hookup, please say hookup, please say hookup_ ). He moved the hand from his hip and dragged it down Tony’s silk tie, which was so incredibly hot, wow. When he reached the top button of Tony’s waistcoat, Steve pulled his tie out and then yanked on it, pulling Tony into a heated kiss.

Steve’s lips and tongue were steaming hot and domineering. He forced his way into Tony’s mouth in no seconds flat, licking and biting and sucking like his life depended on it (or like was really, really enjoying himself, which Tony desperately hoped was the case). Tony tried to keep up (there was basically chance of giving as good as he got), but he could feel his knees going weak and he had to catch himself before he dropped the empty tumbler still in his hand. Oh fuck yeah.

When Steve finally pulled away (because there was no way in hell that Tony was moving back first, holy shit), he grinned wickedly at Tony.

“I’m not usually this easy, and I’m not going to go easy on you about pulling that little stunt, but getting my abusive ex kicked out after you fired him from his dream job? Plus, you’re wearing that suit very nicely. What’s say you go get me another drink and see where the evening goes. Maybe I’ll be convinced to show you just how good my hands really are.”

Tony glanced at his watch again. 9:24pm. Pepper would just have to deal with him leaving early. He had a strong-willed, extremely talented, incredibly attractive man (and a good kisser, did he mention the good kisser bit?) to woo. He held an elbow out to escort Steve to the bar.

“I’ll take you up on that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clint is the one who owns a bar. choose your own adventure if you want him to co-own it with Bucky or with Coulson.


End file.
